


A Breath of Fresh Air

by Ghost_of_a_Chance_13



Series: Elementals [1]
Category: Hellboy (Movies), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Elementals, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Romance, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_of_a_Chance_13/pseuds/Ghost_of_a_Chance_13
Summary: Tom Manning blew the whistle on the Bureau, selling their secrets to the press; after his removal and subsequent arrest he's replaced by a woman named Amber Wynden Willow Jr. She immediately starts making waves - some good, some not - but it's safer for her than going home.Trouble is brewing in Branson, Missouri - trouble that's followed Amber to the Bureau and will bring about the end of life as she knows it. Her clan has hidden their elemental oddity for years but nothing can be hidden forever.Join us as Amber rallies the troops, reigns in Hellboy, and earns herself a whopper of a headache in the process.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Hellboy, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies mentioned; no money is made from this story. I DO own way more tea than is healthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters of this story - up to chapter 4 - have already been completed and posted on FFnet for some time now. It came to my attention recently that I neglected to upload this story on here when I came to AO3, and so, am rectifying that oversight. I am at this time making a few edits and corrections, and some bits may be completely re-written; I've made a lot of progress in my writing since this story's first chapters were written and published. As of chapter 4 (sans non-chapter notices which I won't be transferring) the story will be up-to-date on both sites. It IS ongoing but updates tend to be rather irregular. (Updates to anything but my "A New Lease on Life" stories tend to be irregular at best and infrequent at worst. SMH.) Of course, feedback always tends to increase the frequency of updates, hint-hint. ;) Thanks for reading, hope y'all enjoy, and hope everyone's having a great year so far!
> 
>  
> 
> Hey, Folks! Ghost here. Welcome to BoFA, the first part of my "Elementals" series; I really hope you enjoy it like I've enjoyed writing it. As usual, trigger warnings are posted before chapters likely to set off certain problems, and each chapter is begun with one or more songs that really set the mood for the chapter.
> 
> With how many different versions of the Hellboy fandom are out there, maintaining a believable balance can be difficult. For Abe, I've leaned toward the animated series in appearance, the live-action movies in abilities/hobbies, and combined all three options in personality. Hellboy's mostly a mix of live-action appearance and live-action/animated personality. There may be spoilers ahead for any and all series. So sit back, relax, and sink your teeth into BoFA, y'all, and remember: things aren't always as they seem, and thoughts and feelings can influence perceptions. This chapter's dedicated to anyone who has the knockers to willingly move from Smalltown, USA to NYC.

 

 

_**Suggested listening: Linkin Park, "No More Sorrow"** _

 

* * *

**Prologue**

They'd thank him for it one day, the scowling man reminded himself as he sat at his large, expensive desk. It may not be soon, or in a few years - he may well be dead and gone by the time they realized just what he'd gone through on their behalf. Until then...

'...well, they already _hate_ me,' he admitted to himself darkly. 'What's a few more years of it? At least they'll be better off when I'm done...and this freak show will be shut down for good.' A hesitant knock at the door dragged him from his thoughts, and he yanked a stack of sealed envelopes from a pile of other paperwork.

_"What?"_ he called out. An agent hovered in his now open doorway, clearly rethinking his purpose for disturbing the surly director. "Spit it out, Myers."

"Uh, Sorry Dr. Manning," Agent John Myers almost stammered. "You called me? Something about outgoing mail?"

Just for a moment, regret soured Thomas Manning's stomach. _'No,'_ he reminded himself forcefully, viciously marking the last envelope's return address field with a rubber stamp. 'This is no life for anyone, much less freaks who'll never be able to live a normal life; they're better off out of the public eye.' Without further ado, he stuffed the envelope into a stack of others and shoved it at Myers. "Get going."

For a moment, John stared at his supervisor in concern. Manning wasn't known for his good attitude, his exceptional people skills, or even for being an open book, but the agent couldn't help feeling that something was off. As the older man shot him with a stern glare, Myers ducked out the door and scampered away, never comprehending the disaster to come.

A week later, several major news outlets published breaking news, exposing a branch of the government that supposedly had never existed. That very day, Dr. Thomas Manning was taken from the bureau in cuffs, charged with treason, espionage, and sabotage. That very day, a worried redhead packed away her life for yet another cross-country move, oblivious to the shit-storm awaiting her.

* * *

 

 

> _Readers can find playlists related to this story on my Spotify handle "Ghost Chance," or you can follow this link to the main storyline playlist:  
>  _
> 
> _[Spotify playlist for "A Breath of Fresh Air"](https://open.spotify.com/user/7jx8ivlnwjy48tvih08wsqvzn/playlist/1HKyYGUtyogfEg0jaVtMb7?si=UNRs9k7SQh-pET6dSAzTIg) _
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any readers familiar with "A New Lease on Life" and its related stories, the Amber in this story is very much NOT the Amber in those stories. Amber Willow came to be a good few years before Amber O'Brien and they have more in difference than in common. Also, because I'm sure it's crossed some minds, no, this is NOT a self-insert, and no, I've not chosen the name Amber for two different characters for real-life relation reasons. It's always been one of my favorite names and I just couldn't help using it twice. ;)
> 
> Catch ya later!


	2. 1: Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Director arrives and promptly makes a horrible first impression. Amber, you've got your work cut out for ya...have fun eatin' crow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: Drama kills.
> 
> Literature nerd moment! In this chapter, Abe chooses four books to read, then replaces two with two new ones. The first four books have something in common, and after he switches those two out, the new set has a different common theme. I'd love to see how many of you figure it out! (Hint: You're probably overthinking it.) PM with your answers or ask in a review if you're feeling bored, and I'll either confirm or deny. Whoever figures out one or both answers will be named in the next chapter, and receive its dedication.  
> This chapter dedicated to all my fellow literature nerds who are totally unashamed of it.

 

> _Suggested listening: Geddy Lee "Slipping," Toad the Wet Sprocket "California Wasted"_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Amber**

_Lack of it will extinguish fire…an excess can level country sides. Lack of it leaves water stagnant…an excess creates tempests. It's all about balance._ The woman with light auburn hair silently finished the internal pep-talk with the same familiar quote she always did. 'In the absence of a balance, Chaos prevails… _Find that balance,_ and success is yours.'

She stepped out of the cab that brought her to, of all places, a _waste treatment plant_. Turning to ask the driver if there was a mistake, she saw the vehicle speeding off as though the IRS were after him. She had a _bad_ feeling about this…She pressed the intercom button to be let in.

"State your name and purpose," came the crackling voice through the intercom as the security camera focused in on her face.

"Dr. Amber Wynden Willow, Transfer from Jeff City." The person on the other end of the speaker was taking too long to answer, she thought as the wind picked up a little around her. Realizing what was going on, she forced her reaction down, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The speaker finally crackled to life.

"I don't know what you're up to, kid, but we don't have an _Amber wind-in Willow_ on our records. Quit being a smart ass and go pull your little pranks elsewhere." Amber felt her control slipping at the haughty, scolding tone of the security worker, barely noticing the hefty wind that swooped down, rattling the gate. "And quit trying the gate, twerp." She reached for the government issued ID card she kept handy just for incidents like this one, held it up by her face, and whipped her sunglasses off. Someday she'd love to be able to state her own name without getting guff for it.

"I beg your pardon, buster, but I am _not_ a _'Twerp,' nor_ am I pulling a _prank or_ trying the _gate_. The _wind_ picked up out here and _rattled it_. Now please, search your records…My name is _Amber Wynden Willow,_ I'm from Jefferson City, Missouri, and I just received notice of this transfer at the beginning of the month. This will be my first day in this job if you'll let me through, and I've no desire to be _late_ for it."

"Your ID card says _Wine-den_ Miss…not _Win-dun."_

_Oh NO he didn't!_ Seething with barely suppressed rage, Amber's eyes flashed as she let loose a long, unprofessionally angry answer…an answer which, unfortunately, put her carefully suppressed deep Ozarks twang out front and center.

"It may well be spelled like that, ya dim-bulb, but I can assure ya _without fail_ that every single cotton-pickin' generation of my family has _pronounced_ it _Windun!_ It's a family name! Now will ya _please_ let me _in_ so I can _do_ ma' _Gol-durned job!_ _"_

'Oh, _Gran'ma Lila's lipstick,_ I did _not_ just do that,' Amber managed to think, forcing her tenuous control back into place and glancing discreetly around at the results of the killer dust devil that, a few months warmer, would have become a small tornado. The once clean driveway was covered with snow-specked and shredded leaves, dirt, trash, and other debris from nearby places. She was getting careless…it would be a miracle if they didn't call Security on her right then and there. The speaker was silent for a full minute, during which she managed to somewhat get ahold of herself. Finally, in a voice that told her the owner of the voice was smirking and nearly bursting from amusement, the intercom crackled again.

"Congratulations Ma'am. The last moron was a sneaky, lazy, ass-kissing whiner. You have a backbone, and know how to get things done." Wait, w _hat?_ "Look at the birdie, Ma'am." The keypad flipped upward, exposing a retinal scanner. Deciding not to push her luck further, Amber submitted to the scan, attempting to appear confident and aloof, despite the stinging in her eye. "Welcome aboard, Dr. Willow…We're glad to have you." The gate unlatched, and opened for her; Amber strode swiftly toward the building replacing her sunglasses. 'That wretched _gate_ is better _balanced_ than I am,' she thought grimly, noting that the gate hadn't screeched, squealed, or even creaked. She took several deep, cleansing breaths, and mentally repeated her personal mantra. _'_ _I_ _n the absence of a balance, chaos prevails_ _…_ _Find that balance, and success is yours..._ _'_ Almost to the building, a sudden thought hit her…

'God, I hope my new job isn't to monitor the mapping of _sewers_...I'm cartin' my kiester _back to Missour-uh_ if it is.'

Meanwhile, in the security wing, Agent Rush turned to Agent Moss, curiously. "Moss? Did you mean that, what you said to her?" Moss grinned, kicking his feet up on the desk.

"She won't last a _week_."

* * *

Fifty-one floors below ground, in a library fit for a king, four infamous agents were researching the bowels of the New York City sewer system. Abraham Sapien sat in an ornate vintage desk chair, sifting through the histories of the piles of maps littering the desk before him, trying desperately to find a date somewhere. Liz sat at a laptop set up on a nearby table, searching everywhere she could think of, trying to find something, _anything_ that referenced colossal alligators in New York's sewers without claiming they were a hoax. Hellboy...well, he lounged precariously on the edge of the couch, unlit Cuban hanging loosely from the hand dangling off the side of the couch…sound asleep with an anthology of well-known urban legends propped up by his face.

Despite a lack of visible stress there was enough tension in the air to give the average psychic a headache; Amber wasn't psychic and even she could tell the blurry figures scattered throughout the room were in rough shape. She hovered hesitantly in the doorway, hazel eyes peering out the open door in search of the escort who ran off. A moment later, the black-clad agent reappeared hollering at something called "Poky." Amber blinked in confusion and squinted to focus on the blurry white shape bolting past whickering. Was that...no, surely not...but...it looked like a...a _unicorn_...wearing some small black garment draped around its horn. She had a _bad_ feeling about this…

* * *

Not good - not good, this was horribly, awfully not good! His heart racing, John Myers bolted through the lush carpeted halls and narrowly dodged Agent Reed - really, that bloody nuisance Poky got loose again?! Whose panties did the horn-headed pervert snatch this time?! Myers shook his head as though shaking off the curiosity; his news was much more urgent than the resident knicker-snatcher.

As focused as he was on his own thoughts, he didn't notice the red-haired stranger until he practically ran her over. "S-Sorry!" he called back to the stunned woman with a cringe. Without waiting, whether for questions or reprimands, he darted into the library and skidded to a halt, never noticing the tension thick in the air. _"You_ _'_ _re not gonna believe this!"_ he fairly yelped.

The effect was instantaneous, like a single lit match falling into an active minefield. Hellboy woke with a start and tumbled off the couch to the floor, his cigar smashing under his stone hand.  Abe startled violently, nearly ripping the priceless Dustbowl-era Sewer map in his grip. Liz jumped half-out of her seat, the wireless mouse flying out of her grip and off the other side of the table; when it hit the floor buttons-first, a shrill alarm blared from the laptop's speakers. The popup she intended to close, instead, was opened, and sure enough, it was toting malware.

_"_ _What?!_ _"_ the two more cantankerous of the three agents snapped. Now seeing the destruction his sudden outburst caused, Myers flinched; his eyes shifted to the doorway, as though he intended to flee for his life, but he held his ground. Perhaps his news would smooth things over?

"Manning hasn't been sick after all," he explained a little more calmly. "He's been _fired - and arrested!_ His desk and quarters are cleared out and everything! The report says he's behind that huge leak awhile back — he's being charged with treason, espionage, and sabotage of a government program… _this one!"_

"So _he_ blew the whistle and shoved it down Uncle Sam's throat," Liz muttered.

"—And you're surprised _why?"_ Hellboy grunted, dragging himself to his feet.

"As cynical as ever," Abe sighed sharing an annoyed glance with Liz.

"Why bother celebrating?" Hellboy grumbled in reply and shot Abe a sour look as he settled stiffly in the oversized chair next to the couch he just fell from. _"Manning_ was worthless, the bigwig _before_ _Manning_ was worthless, and you know _damn well_ the _next one_ will be worthless, _too_. They _always_ have a hidden agenda, and they _never_ care about doing their job right." Abe shook his head in defeat at Hellboy's fatalistic attitude. Maybe Red was right. Maybe the new guy would be just as worthless as Manning always was.

"Um…" a soft voice cut in from the doorway. "Hello?" Belatedly, everyone noticed their company. Despite his attempts not to stare, Abe could not tear his eyes from the woman in the doorway. She wasn't too thin; she rather had curves in all the right places. Vibrant, layered light auburn hair dusted her shoulders and a few whispy fly-aways stuck out at odd angles. Her fair skin was liberally dusted with freckles - a natural redhead? - and a light dusting of rouge warmed her cheeks. Her eyes…Abe forced a swallow. Though very out of focus, those eyes were elegant, feminine, and seemingly void of makeup; the irises were bright, a warm amber color reminding him of a brand of bourbon whisky Hellboy was fond of. A remarkable shade of hazel, to sure. He only ever saw that shade one place, only in the memories of another.

"Y-Yes, Miss?" he stammered realizing Hellboy was staring at him in second-hand chagrin.

"Hi," Amber answered still glancing around the room nervously. "I...think I'm lost..." All thought of Hellboy's cringe was quashed at the sound of the newcomer's voice - a sweet, soft mezzo-soprano with what sounded to be a carefully suppressed southern drawl. Upon seeing the way she clutched the strap of her khaki messenger bag with one hand and held the bag tightly to her side with the other, Abe turned to straighten the desktop. She was nervous…and his _staring_ at her like some ill-mannered cad probably made her _more_ nervous. Had his isolation from the human race completely wrecked his manners? The man he once was would never have been distracted by any woman no matter how distracting she might be. Of course, he thought darkly, Caul was rather cruel to his wife Edith and his associates from the Oannes Society might have had a hand in Lincoln's assassination. That man wasn't exactly the sort _anyone_ should emulate.

Hoping for a distraction, he paced over to the wall of shelves dedicated to fiction, selected four volumes at random, and took them to the quartet of book-stands before his tank. At the rate this research was going, he was sure to need some light reading that evening. Upon reaching the stands, however, he blanched - Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, The Scarlet Letter, and Flowers For Algernon? He shook his head with a sigh of frustration. That new woman was more distracting than he first thought. Seeing her still squinting and looking about for something, he discreetly ducked back to the fiction wall and replaced the Austen novel with George Orwell's Animal Farm, and the Bronte novel with A Clockwork Orange. After all, after the strange woman's sudden appearance, he doubted he'd have the concentration for anything but light reading.

"Well…" Liz spoke up since Hellboy seemed content to glare at the woman, John was too embarrassed to string two words together, and Abe was clearly lost in thought. "Where were you headed?"

"I'm seeking Professor Broom," Amber explained hesitantly, "I must speak with him." Hellboy eyed her with increasing suspicion, from her cinnamon knit cardigan, to her long black skirt, to her simple ivory blouse, to her brown moccasin loafers, and finally back up to her out of focus hazel eyes.

"Whaddayou want with Father?" he asked in a near-growl. She startled at the words, then squinted almost to the point of scowling.

**_"Father?"_ ** she mumbled dubiously. "You've got to be _kidding me."_ She cast her eyes around the room around as though searching for something.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Huh?" he asked gruffly, standing and lumbering toward her. Finally, noticing a small lamp table nearby, she hoisted her satchel onto it and began rifling through the bag, her forehead furrowing in confusion.

_"GET DOWN!"_ Hellboy shouted in warning and, without so much as a warning shot, bodily tackled her. A scuffle ensued - her trying to break free and him trying to restrain her - a small brown case flew out of her hand and landed at Abe's feet. _"Myers, alert security!"_ Hellboy barked wrangling the screeching protesting intruder into a half-nelson. _"Have them check that ba-"_

A pained grunt cut the order short, courtesy of a well-placed elbow to the solar-plexus; with the half-demon gripping his gut Amber managed to break free but quickly fell flat on her back. One moment she aimed a sharp glare at him, lips split in a snarl and poised to read him the riot act; the next her eyes were fairly bulging out of her face, her jaw slack, and, other than a strangled squeak, her voice was completely gone. "What...the Hell?!" she slurred in naked shock once she found it again. She screwed her eyes shut, shook her head as if to dispel clouds, and looked again; alas, she was still pinned to the floor by a giant red gorilla with filed-down horns.

Fighting a grin at her expense, Abe stretched his palm out toward her in investigation, quickly realizing the truth. He retrieved the clamshell case at his feet and brought it over. "Red, she was looking for THESE," he explained, and without a trace of a smile on his face, opened the case and showed Hellboy the tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses inside.

_"What?!"_

"Will you _please_ get _off_ me now?" Her voice dripped with reproach, almost as though he were a misbehaving little brother, Hellboy thought. It was disconcerting, to say the least. He stood and brushed himself off, tempted to shoot her a dirty look while she wasn't looking. "I'm very nearsighted," the woman continued in an irritated tone as she accepted Abe's offer of a hand up. She tossed a quick, curious glance at the smaller agent, her cheeks blushing a delicate pink that lessened the impact of the indignant glare she aimed at Hellboy. "…and I'd like to actually _see_ my surroundings this time." She deftly fixed the eyeglasses to her nose and ears, and in the process, Abe noticed something odd about them - the earpieces were spring-loaded metal wire, curved to fit snugly around the back of the ear. It was the norm for eyewear at one time, but that was decades ago - now that style of earpiece was rarely used except for children and safety glasses. Perhaps...perhaps she had problems with her glasses falling off...a lot?

"Why weren't you wearing those when you came in?" Meyers asked in confusion. She reached into her sweater pocket, holding up a soft case from which she withdrew her prescription sunglasses. They had the same curled earpieces, Abe saw out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes widened as she inspected the damage…Thanks to Hellboy's flattening of her, they were bent harshly out of shape.

"Thanks, Buster, I'll send you the repair bill." She shot Hellboy a death-glare. Abe winced; how could eyes so bright and soft become sharp and cold at a moment's notice?

_"Hey!"_ Hellboy shouted as she retrieved her bag and trotted briskly toward the library door. "Where do you think _you_ _'_ _re_ going?!"

"To find Broom myself, of course. He's got some _explaining_ to do…." Her tone was clipped and brisk, and her expression was pinched in frustration, and without further ado, she stalked out into the hall. Hellboy growled in irritation and set to grumbling under his breath but Abe just stared at the open doorway. This stranger...she knew more than she was telling them...why was she at the bureau in the first place? Without a word to the others he took off in pursuit, concerned and increasingly suspicious. Liz turned to Myers, her eyes hopeful.

"So Manning's gone," she smirked. "I take it the sewer mission's canceled?"

* * *

 Even at a good distance, Abe knew the auburn-haired woman was in Professor Broom's private office. He could've heard the yelling all the way back by the library.

_"_ _Bee,_ _"_ the woman snarled as she slammed the office door. " _I trusted you!_ You said this job had _nothing_ to do with the supernatural - that it was a _supervisory_ position, and one I'd _excel_ at! _WHY did you LIE TO ME after ALL THESE YEARS?!"_ The Professor was still attempting to maintain a civil tone, though it came across as more chastising than anything else.

"I did nothing of the sort, Amber," Broom replied. "I told you your position would not _require_ the _use_ _of any supernatural powers_. It _is_ a supervisory position and you _will excel_ at it if you can learn to control yourself and get over your fears. Those are the only obstacles in your way, right now."

_"Control_ myself?! _Get over_ my _fears?!"_ she raged. "B, you' gone _too far_ this time! _I_ ain't the one ya gotta _worry_ about here! Aunt Ashlyn's gonna _whoop_ _my ASS_ , her husband's gonna tie me down an' _videotape it_ , an' _Aunt A's_ gonna _suffocate me again!"_ Her shrieking voice cracked harshly at the last. "If I work here even for a _day_ , we're both good as _dead_ if'n the _family_ ever find out!" What sounded like a heavy gust of wind rattled the door to the office; Abe sprinted the rest of the distance to the door, braced his shoulder against the paneling, and strained against whatever strange force held the door shut. Finally, it gave, and the door creaked open. _"B, God love yah, an_ _'_ _so do I, but Goddammit, I REFUSE to allow m_ _'_ _self to become some sort of SIDESHOW EXHIBIT,_ _'_ _SPECIALLY when I_ _'_ _ll get m_ _'_ _HIDE TANNED OVER IT!"_

Abe flinched in the open doorway as though her words had physically wounded him. He didn't notice the papers littering the floor - piled and scattered like leaves caught in the currents of a dust devil. He didn't notice the framed certificates and photos on the walls - always leveled with the sort of precision that made people want to tilt them off-center - now hanging askew. It never registered that the professor's neat white curls were blown in every direction along with the visitor's auburn locks.

He noticed none of it. All he saw was that the woman—Amber—a woman he thought beautiful and intriguing only moments ago—the woman whose eyes were soft and gentle one moment then sharp and vicious the next. Now, as before, her eyes were razor sharp, her hair horribly mussed and her face flushing red with rage.

Hellboy was right. Manning was fired, another was brought in to replace him, and the replacement—this _Amber_ woman, apparently—disagreed. If she knew she was being recruited for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and defense, if she knew her job would entail working with people like Hellboy, like _him,_ she surely would have refused.

In all his years managing the Bureau, Manning never managed to crush Abe the way he did so many other agents; Abe never showed the cantankerous old politician the slightest bit of weakness, sure that weakness would be promptly rewarded with a stabbing to the back. He never had the chance to put his walls up for this new director, and accordingly, she crushed him without a second thought.

Her blood finally starting to cool, Amber noticed the Professor's eyes stray; in open concern, they focused on something - or someone - right at her back. Stiffening in dread, she turned to face the door - now wide open and visibly warped from the unintended windstorm that just tore through the office. There in the open doorway stood a new and already familiar face: the blue-skinned humanoid agent who came to her defense in the Library.

Hazel eyes melted in regret, humiliation, and despair. Abe could tell by her expression; she knew she hurt him, and that simply wouldn't do. If she knew how her careless, heartless words affected him, it would give her a power over him that even Manning never had and that wouldn't do. His hands closed upon themselves at his sides in a shielding habit; clasped, they picked up little to nothing, and after what he just witnessed, he needed the silence.

"Abe…" the Professor attempted.

"I'll drop by later, Professor," he stated blandly, his voice revealing none of the emotions ripping his mind apart. "'Twas nothing important. It seems your door may be jamming. Miss?" Amber flinched at the stern glare he aimed at her. "Congratulations. Hopefully, you've more _skill_ than you've _restraint."_

His stomach churned into a sailor's knot but he wouldn't let himself show it. He turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open in a passive-aggressive hint. As he stalked down the hallway, he heard Amber's breath catch in her throat as she fought tears. To his surprise, he felt the air in the hallway grow extremely cold…and unnaturally still. Amidst the silence he heard the fluttering of paper and the professor's voice, calmly and quietly addressing the new director. Abe turned and looked back toward the office incredulously as the door slowly creaked shut; he never heard a single footfall from the occupants and neither were close enough to pull the door closed.

Could...could it be? Could that ill-mannered woman have a valid reason for fearing connection with the Bureau? ... _NO._ He physically shook some sense into himself. No, it simply wasn't possible. Hellboy was right - Manning was useless, and his replacement was bound to be even worse.

* * *

Back in the office, the papers littering the floor began to weakly flutter back up onto the desk and settle in neat piles. The frames on the walls straightened themselves. Amber shakily collapsed in the plush chair behind her, sitting as comfortably as she would on a bed of nails. Staring off into space, she replayed the agent's words over and over in her mind, each repetition stinging worse than the last. When it became clear that she couldn't speak, Professor Broom broke the silence for her.

"Well, my girl, congratulations…" he stated dryly. "Not twenty minutes on the job and you've already made a dreadful first impression." He leaned back in his desk chair and folded his hands on the desk. "What are you going to do, now?" Amber turned watery eyes to the door. Just moments before, in the library, she felt hope, warmth, and wondered if maybe things were finally looking up; now, one temper tantrum later, she felt cold, alone, and her gut cringed around the crow she was already choking down. The phantom hands that picked up the papers and righted the frames weakly pushed the door closed; as the agent stated, the paneling was too warped now to fit back in the frame.

"I wasn't talking about them," she insisted softly. "I would never have said that about - about anyone of the sort. I just…"

"I know, my dear, but Abraham doesn't know about the Willow clan - no one knows unless they brought the knowledge with them. Your elders demanded I keep the clan's existence from my superiors and I've kept my word." He shifted in his seat, staring her down over his narrow glasses. "You have a fine mess on your hands now. Abraham is among the more reasonable of the agents here, but even he has his limits. He may well be relating this incident to the others as we speak, and if he does, they're sure to believe him. They'll be less compliant, some will be belligerent, and Abraham himself will be difficult at best. Do you still believe yourself completely in control of your temper, and immune to your fears? Those fears sparked that outburst, after all." Amber looked up into Broom's eyes, finally. "So. What are you going to do now, hm?" He could see in her eyes the moment she resolved herself to her actions.

"I'm going to settle into my quarters," she stated, relating her intentions step by step as he taught her years before.  _It takes much to fully conquer a difficult task,_ he always told her,  _but a solid plan is always a good place to start._ "I'm going to work on my - my temper, and improve my control over my… _inheritance_. I'll set aside at least an hour each day to practice that control, and the same number of hours to work on training myself to a point where I feel safe on a daily basis again, and gradually increase that time." She faltered, unsure she could actually live up to the last promise she wanted to make. It was never a good idea to make promises she couldn't keep, but was that truly worse than not pushing herself to surpass her failures?

"…and?" Broom prodded, expectantly. Amber steeled herself, silently committing herself to do everything she could to fulfill her promises and proving her worth in the position.

"In the absence of a balance, Chaos prevails," she finished quietly. "You always tell me I need to find my balance but I never have...I will find it, if only for the sake of those under my care." He sat silently for a moment, considering her oddly formal words - a habit he recognized easily after their long history - but finally, a fond smile crinkled his mustache.

"You've grown, Amber." She blushed hotly.

"I was a _child,_ B," she reminded. "Not yet five years old when you left. A lot can happen in so many years."

"Yet those aunts of yours still terrify you," he reminded, "and you still cower in that fear."

"Forgive me for saying it," she retorted indignantly, "but wouldn't you be terrified of your relations if one was pyrokinetic and the other aerokinetic? Ashlyn's burns take forever to heal, and Aunt A…" She shuddered, blanching at memories — memories of a darkened barn, a horde of hungry rats, and a spider bite she never felt. "Better to cower and live unmolested, than to anger her, and have your breath stolen."

_"Is it_ now?" She shifted uncomfortably; the reproach in his eyes hit too close to home. "Have you never wondered why she singles you out?"

_"I live,"_ she answered bitterly. "To her, that's reason enough. If she's found out about the others — Vega, Avira, all the rest — then she has yet more reason to wish me dead. It does no good to question one's reasoning if they have no reasoning themselves — she's irrevocably insane, B." Silence reigned a moment as she considered whether she wanted her question answered, or if the truth would be too much.

"I assume you've met him?" the professor asked quietly, his eyes drawn to a photo on the wall. Hellboy was just a boy when it was taken - one horn broken off, Howdy-Doody doll clutched tight in his left hand and a capgun poised in his right. Hellboy was only a child then, but his father was long beyond seeing his first grey hairs. Amber followed his gaze, a rock forming in her throat; she nodded. Even with the obvious age gap, it was clear that the hulking half-demon who flattened her was the very same half-demon wearing a snaggle-toothed grin for the camera.

"You never told us," Amber stated instead of admitting her ruminations, "and you never intended to."

"No." Broom turned to another photo on the wall; the woman featured was  petite, rather plain in the face but with a fine figure, and - though the sepia-toned photo didn't show it - she had bright hazel eyes and brown hair dark enough to pass for black.

"He's your absolution, then? Leaving us wasn't enough?" The Professor's sharp glance was full of censure, and she cringed. "Forgive me, I—"

"You didn't think before you spoke, Amber, and you rarely do. It was a fault of hers as well, so I can't be too surprised." She stood, intent on beating a swift retreat. "Amber." She glanced back; he smiled wryly. "You've still accomplished much in these years; Clover would be proud." His smile told her he, too, was proud, though she couldn't agree with it. What had he to be proud of, when she never could master the faults that always plagued her? "It's good to see you again, Dear. You need to go by Lab five sometime today; they have a tracker for you, and the technician will need to have a look at this door."

With a tremulous smile, she left him to his work.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing note: That bit about Liz and the mouse was totally not based on something that's happened to me before as a result of my husband, Cold, being a freakin' ninja. Nope, not at all based on reality.


	3. 2: A Deeper Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to Flint and Feather for reviewing every chapter of this story and several of its related one-shots and AughraOfEarth for her encouraging reviews.

 

> _**Suggested listening: Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Good Intentions," Frank Sinatra "The Moon Got In My Eyes"** _

* * *

**2: A Deeper Problem**

Amber was always a tad old-fashioned but she wasn't known for getting all gussied up for nothing. The only exception - work - was greeted with a set routine: long skirts, pressed blouses, nylon stockings, and pumps or flats. This was how she always dressed for work even when she was younger, after all, and some habits die hard. Come ten am on her first day of work, though, she was begrudgingly considering a change. After all, her preferred work attire wasn't ideal for breaking down doors.

Twice she checked the door number with a passerby, twice she asked why the door was locked, and twice she was told the same things: Yes, that was her office, no, the door wasn't locked, and yes, she did look a hot mess. She never asked their opinion on that front, but since when did not asking ever stop anyone? With no explanation of why the door wouldn't open and no offers for help, she resorted to throwing herself against the door with all her might. After a particularly hard lunge—and cracking her head against the doorframe—she heard someone behind her clear their throat. She fell back against the cold door with her normally neat carrot red hair falling in disarray and blew her bangs out of her eyes.

"Problem?" Hellboy asked innocently, a twitch of the very tip of his tail the only sign he was amused. Amber groaned and dug her hand into her hair, tugging at the roots.

"Door's not locked," she grumbled to the floor. Screw being professional - she needed a shower, a massage, a cup of hot tea, and her bed, _in that order._ A glass or two of red wine wouldn't hurt, either. "It still won't open."

Hellboy glanced pointedly at the middle of the door—or, rather, the mail slot. Instead of voicing any number of snide remarks on the tip of his tongue, he bent down, glanced through the mail slot, and snorted in amusement. Straightened up again, he set his shoulder to the door and gave it a single firm shove. Without saying a word to the stunned woman he snagged the rubber doorstop, stuffed it into the door jam, and let go. Despite the doorstop, the door started to cave outward again, leaving just barely enough room for a smaller person to squish through. "Good luck, Kid," he grinned, and with a mock salute, he turned to continue on his way looking far more innocent than he probably was. This wasn't Amber's first rodeo, though; she learned years ago to expect a degree of manager-hazing when taking on a new crew.

All it took was getting her head through the door and the bottom fell out of her stomach; she stared in dismay through the small gap in the door. Now the problem was obvious. In the days after Manning's dramatic exit, piles upon piles upon piles of garbage were shoved through the mail slot; the whole room was clogged with garbage, the majority collected behind the door to the point of compressing it shut. With her wide hips and full bust, Amber barely made it through the small gap, but even then she had no idea what to do. Papers—wrappers—discarded towels and tissues—refuse of every sort was shoved through the slot in the door in protest. Manager hazing she expected; this, however, was beyond hazing…this was evidence of a much deeper problem than losing a trusted leader.

She had her work cut out for her, that much was certain.

* * *

It took half the day, but finally Amber made a dent in the destroyed office: she could reach the desk. Outside the door, huge black bags of rubbish lined the wall like soldiers up for inspection.

Everything about the situation rubbed her wrong. The office wasn't large but it was appointed with extravagant, overpriced furnishings. Everything reeked of cigar smoke. The only appliances remaining were an enormous flat screen monitor, an even larger wall-mounted flat screen TV opposite the desk, an expensive satellite radio, and a luxury-brand single-serving coffee machine. Exhausted from clearing out the garbage she sank into the fancy leather desk chair; almost immediately her elbows sank onto the glass desktop, her head into her hands, and her fingers into her frazzled-beyond-bothering hair.

Not even a day on the job, and she was already considering quitting. One thing stopped her, though—Amber Wynden Willow Jr, MD, was _not_ a _quitter._ If anything, she was stubborn and defiant. It would take more than a trashed office to send her packing. Still…She choked up. Unbidden, she recalled the events of the morning. Deep blue eyes full of distrust, disgust, and even more defiance than she could muster. For the first time in years, the wind in her heart was silent and still; she didn't even know the man but his anger made her feel empty. Tears stung her eyes. For just a moment she felt like a little girl again—the little girl who tried with all her heart to make her aunt A proud only to have the air stolen from her lungs in punishment. As if everything else weren't bad enough…Finally, she bit the bullet—she dug out her cell phone, dialed a number she knew by heart, and waited.

Mothers could fix anything.

* * *

 "Ya've reached the Tipsy Willow, this's Daisy speakin.'" For a moment the swelling in her heart wouldn't let Amber speak. "'Lo? Y'all boot dialin' on me?" Daisy leaned away from the phone and asked someone—likely her soft-spoken husband—"it _is_ boot-dialin', right? No? –Now, why the hell'd anyone die'l'a phone with'eir ass?!" Daisy turned back and grumbled into the phone again. "Whaddaya need?" Amber could only get out a single choked word.

"Mom…" Everything went silent on the other end of the line as the other woman ducked into a quiet room. "Mom, it's—it's Amber."

"I know who y'are, Sugar," Daisy shushed. "I ain't got that many kids who call from a withheld number half-cryin', y'know. Most of'em jus' git drunk an' call fer a lift. Glad I ne'er had ta deal with that with you, right?" Amber laughed weakly. "Now you tell me all about it, Hon…I'm less'nen."

Anyone who might've listened in on the conversation might've taken it at face value but things are rarely as they seem. Amber's mother was dead—long dead—and Amber and her younger sister were raised by a relative. Elder Daisy Willow was well known for taking in orphans, lost-causes, troubled teens, and every stray she could get her hands on, and Amber and Jasmine were only two of a multitude. Though they were only distantly related by blood and hadn't seen one another in years, the bond was stronger than ever.

Without further delay, Amber spilled it all—her sudden flight from Jefferson City, receiving a job offer up north, arriving to find her new office a complete mess…and making a horrible, horrible first impression. Daisy made all the right comments and all the right sounds at all the right times even as Amber unloaded weeks of stress for her to hear; despite her brusque attitude, she didn't mind.

"I…" Amber forced a swallow rubbing at stinging hazel eyes. "…I don't know if I can do this—maybe I'm in over my head! And…and… _Al-leesh-sha—"_ A barely restrained sob staggered the name. "She's— _David_ —these're _his people!_ I—"

"Wait, whaddaya mean _his people?"_ Daisy interrupted seriously. "Ya mean…" Though Amber couldn't see, she turned to scan for listening ears before continuing, _"Woof?"_ Amber scoffed weakly.

"Ma, they're not werewolves…although apparently there _is_ a _Lycan_ in the ranks." She scrubbed through her hair again, heaving a frustrated sigh through her nose. "The ranks're full of Elementals, skilled humans, and beings even we knew nothing about—and apparently B adopted one of them, raised him from a child."

"That job offer was from _him,_ then." Davis's voice, though gruff, wasn't angry.

"Yes."  Amber shook off a memory of sad dark eyes and perpetually mussed brown hair, their owner waving goodbye as his train gathered speed. "Alesha's gone and so's her husband—how can I work with people who'll remind me of David, of her?"

"Easy," Daisy answered sternly. "Ya'll take it one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time, an' by the time ya get to years, ya'll have the hang of it. If Broom asked fer ya by name, Windy, he knows ya can do the job an' do it right. Trust'im, okay? You can do this…we _know_ ya can."

"Okay, Ma." Amber sniffed, scrubbing the stinging away from her eyes. "I'll try—I'm sure they'd rather I just quit now, but by God, I'll try."

"'At's my girl." Though many miles and states stood between them, Amber heard her adoptive mother's grin without fail. "Now wipe off ya cheeks, git'cherself a cuppa tea, an' grab that bull by the horns! An' don't worry…I won't tell no one but Seb an' Raina. What Ashlyn don't know won't reach that bitch sister'a ours, an' what she don't know can't hurt ya." As the two women exchanged love and goodbyes, Amber hoped against all hope that Daisy was right.

Her very breath depended on it.

* * *

_"Trevor Broom,_ I'm'onna _kick_ _yer ASS_ fer this!" Between shouting threats into the phone, the tall chunky Latina darted from one end of Lab 5 to the other snatching up everything that could point to her identity—photos with coworkers, handwritten notes, scribbled work orders, a stained coffee cup full of DNA evidence—everything was thrown haphazardly into a giant cardboard moving box. "I quit! I fuckin' quit! Ya di'n't tell me ya hired _Windy!_ She thinks I'm fuckin' _dead_ , remember?!" The brim of her much beloved worn green John Deere hat whacked into a low shelf as she scrabbled to yank the keyboard plug out of its socket; fingerprints could be found all over the lab, but mid-panic, she wasn't thinking very clearly.

"Now, now, Alesha," the professor placated.

"Don' you 'Alesha' me!" she interrupted, then spun to grab yet another item and wound up whacking herself in the face with her long coffee brown ponytail. _"Shit!_ I was never here—I'm buried in Branson—that's the story, now _swear it!"_ Suddenly she froze, dark brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets; through the frosted glass of the lab door, she could see a familiar head of carrot red hair hovering. _Amber…_ she was too late. In a fit of temper she ripped off her hat and flung it across the room, but it didn't make her feel any better. Her shoulders slumped in dismay. "Damn you, Broom," she muttered into the phone. "Damn ya ta every single hell ever contemplated, _especially_ all the _Chinese ones -_ they gotta _lotta hells._ "

"Instead of being _childish_ , Ms. Woods, let this be a lesson—you can run from your troubles, but they'll always find—" Not wanting to hear the same line again, she hung up, dropped the box roughly onto the nearest workbench, and slouched over to her favorite swivel stool. She loved the professor, God knows she did, but sometimes she just wanted to wring his neck.

For what seemed like years, she sat perched on the cushion spinning herself back and forth out of nerves, then finally, a knock came. "C'mon in," she grumbled; it was time to face the music, but she sure as Hell wasn't gonna dance to it! Amber hesitantly pushed the door open a way, peeked around the corner, and wandered inside. At the sight of the empty lab—or, rather, the green cap lying discarded on an unplugged keyboard—her heart stopped. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Amber turned wide-eyed to follow the trajectory of the throw, and when they landed on the sulking Latina, her lip started quivering.

"Hey, Windy," Alesha mumbled avoiding her eyes. "How've ya—!" The greeting turned into a frantic squawk as the redhead ran for her, and before Alesha knew what to think, she was tackled and smothered in that red hair. "A-Am-ber!" she choked out trying to free her throat from the over-zealous hug. "Si- _Sis,_ yer— _chokin'_ —me!" That warning seemed to do the trick; Amber backed away and Alesha gulped lung-fuls of air like a drowning woman brought to shore. "Hi."

"Al…" Amber murmured looking her over like she was about to be torn away again. Never before was Alesha so distinctly aware of her weight. When she left Branson—and the family who'd adopted her—she was curvy but fit and among the top in her classes. After years of living on coffee, sugar, peppermints, and junk food she'd dropped out as a field agent and joined the maintenance staff full-time, a decision that kept her alive but packed on the pounds. Though she was six-foot-six barefoot, she was at least fifty pounds beyond a healthy weight. Amber, however, looked the same as she always had; her curvy figure hadn't swelled, her hair hadn't been cut or grown out, she still wore the same style glasses—she hadn't even changed the way she dressed or wore her makeup! The lack of change was both comforting and infuriating.

"You're—You're _alive,_ Al!" Amber stammered. "How…but you…I thought…?" Her face fell, her heart crushed. "You weren't dead at all…we buried an empty casket." Alesha squirmed, fidgeting with a fraying thread at the hem of her green collared shirt.

"Well, uh…technically…yeah. I wanted a new life, but the old me had ta die first. The Bureau helped…B's never let me live it down. I keep tellin'im he's a hypocrite fer it, but he jus' gives me that hard stare'a his." Years of separation stagnated the air in the small lab. "Fer what it's worth…I'm sorry. Dyin' ain't somethin' ya can undo, no matter how much ya regret it afterward." Amber's painted lips frowned.

"Dinner tonight?" she asked softly. "You can tell me all about it then, right?" The brunette nodded glumly, not looking forward to the tell-all one bit. "B said I needed to come pick up a tracker, whatever that is." Finally, things were working in Alesha's favor; mechanics were always her strong point. With a lopsided smile, she dug through her cardboard box, then tossed a small electronic device to Amber who barely caught it. The redhead examined it curiously, trying to figure it out.

"Press the button," Alesha suggested with a grin that widened into a smirk when the LED bulb lit, revealing the shiny glassy portion to be an amber colored lens. Broom requested a lens the color of Amber's eyes and she provided without question; subconsciously she glanced back and forth from the glowing beacon to the eyes it was inspired by, confident that she managed to match it. "If yer ever sent out in the field, you'll need that fer safety—it's got a GPS locater built in an' a distress beacon in case'a emergencies."

Though a lifetime of unspoken words hung between them, Alesha made her way over and pulled Amber into a tight embrace that said it all. "Welcome aboard, Windy," she beamed. "If anyone can pull us out'a the shithole we're stuck in, you can."

* * *

Around six, Abraham slunk down the residential hallway toward the cafeteria. His thoughts were in a turmoil from the incident that morning, leaving him unable to concentrate on anything at all…nothing except the memory of the hurt in those honey-golden eyes as he threw everything he had into chasing that woman away from the BPRD…and him. Without even realizing he was doing so, he passed the turn he needed to get to the cafeteria and neared Manning's old suite. As he approached it, though, he began to pick up the sounds of a stereo playing…and the scent of lime and vanilla candles. Finally, he was close enough to hear the words of the song clearly, and he paused a moment, listening intently.

> _"Out of the darkness, you suddenly appeared._
> 
> _You smiled, I was taken by surprise._
> 
> _I guess I should have seen right through you,_
> 
> _But the moon got in my eyes._
> 
> _I was so thrilled by the love you volunteered,_
> 
> _I gave my heart without a compromise._
> 
> _I guess you don't remember, do you?_
> 
> _When the moon got in my eyes."_

Ah. The door to the executive suite was propped wide open. Clearly that 'Amber' woman was getting herself settled in, and airing the reek of cigar smoke out of the room at the same time. "Why is she still here?" he murmured.

> _"I thought a kingdom was in sight_
> 
> _I would have the right to claim,_
> 
> _But with the morning's early light_
> 
> _I didn't have a dream to my name._
> 
>  
> 
> _You know the saying, 'All who love are blind'…_
> 
> _It seems that ancient adage still applies._
> 
> _I guess I should have seen right through you,_
> 
> _But the moon got in my eyes."_

He'd heard that song before…where? Oh right, the Professor had a soft spot for Sinatra—the track was one of his favorites. If he needed any more proof that that Amber woman was bad news, this was perfect; she was even playing Broom's favorite music in hopes of worming her way into his confidence.

> _"I thought a kingdom was in sight_
> 
> _I would have the right to claim,_
> 
> _But with the morning's early light,_
> 
> _I didn't have a dream to my name._
> 
>  
> 
> _You know the saying, 'All who love are blind'…_
> 
> _It seems that ancient adage still applies._
> 
> _I guess I should have seen right through you,_
> 
> _But the moon got in my eyes."_

Abe slowly, cautiously approached the door as the song trailed off, the player shuffling to something by Billie Holiday. Peeking warily around the corner into the small living room, he saw Amber moving slowly from here to there around the bedroom, putting away items from her over-sized suitcase and the boxes already delivered. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on what she was doing, he mused. On her bed, a laptop played the music he was hearing while running an anti-virus scan.

Abe didn't notice the empty duffel bag shakily suspended in mid-air near the bed, as it was almost to the ceiling. He did notice that she'd changed clothes. No longer in her work clothing, she wore black cotton lounge pants and an old green tee shirt; her feet were bare, the nails decorated with chipped taupe polish. Her hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun, leaving the shorter layers to fall loosely around her face and neck in wispy locks and fly-aways. As he saw her now, Amber appeared harmless—nothing more than a tired woman who was under too much stress and tended to lose her temper at inconvenient times. The moment the thought formed, he turned to leave.

A flash of color in her parlor caught his eye. Standing against the wall opposite the doorway was an oil painting in a polished ebony frame, the corners still decked with foam wrap. On a background of wispy grey clouds, an artistic rendition of the yin yang hung proudly. Yin was formed of a towering wave of water, while Yang was formed of a crackling fiery blaze. In the thick of the fire hung a broad ring of watery blue, surrounding a wavy grey center. On the grey background was the symbol for Ohm in the same blue pattern. In the base of the rising wave hung a corresponding image—a burning ring with a flaming Ohm symbol and the same grey background. Below the image, a curling ivory scroll held two lines of skillfully painted text Abe could just barely make out:

> _In the absence of a balance Chaos prevails._
> 
> _Find that Balance and success will be yours._

At the bottom right, the artist signed it _Jazz Willow._ Intriguing, he mused silently. The painting and statement had to be symbolic…but for what?

The song trailed off; the stereo whirred, shuffling to the next track. Amber was putting away what looked suspiciously like undergarments when she suddenly went rigid. Abe reflexively ducked back around the corner into the hall, where she wouldn't see him. Amber switched off the music, and slowly approached the door between the living room and bedroom with fear in her eyes. Abe held his breath. It just wouldn't do to have her find him spying on her after what he'd heard and what he'd said. A few moments passed, Amber scanning the living room from her position and listening intently. Abe's eyes widened in surprise when he felt a soft, barely noticeable current of cool air waft from the living room out into the hall. He stepped back enough to escape it, wondering what it was. Finally, the air current warmed and dissipated; Amber sighed in apparent relief, as though convinced a danger was passed. A soft thud from the bedroom made her jump.

" _Shoot!_ " she swore, whipping about and scowling at a piece of luggage that had been tossed beside the bed. She loosed an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. Abe hazarded a glance around the door-frame to make sure she was all right. Finally satisfied, he turned to leave for his original destination. Halfway there, though, he paused, shook his head, and turned back toward Amber's doorway.

'Strange…' he realized in disbelief. 'I don't recall seeing that bag there, earlier…?' Brooding silently, he resumed his trek to the cafeteria, confused as could be, and trying to put the pieces together regarding the strange new Supervisor. Unfortunately, though, the pieces were tiny, few, and random…and none seemed to fit together, no matter which way he turned them. 'She definitely knows more than she's letting on…that alone means she's trouble.'

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the answer to the connection between the two sets of books Abe chose.
> 
> Set 1 all included a troubled romance as an important part of the plot.
> 
> *1: In Pride and Prejudice, there are two main romances: Lizzy and Mr. Darcy and Jane and Mr. Bingly. Darcy and Lizzy have a horrible first meeting and spend the entire book fighting each other AND fighting the growing attraction between them, while Jane and Bingly wind up being torn apart by someone who feels shy Jane doesn't truly care for Bingly.  
> *2: In Jane Eyre, Jane takes on a position as a governess and teacher in the household of Mr. Edward Rochester, tutoring his illegitimate daughter. Jane finds herself falling in love with him and consents to marry him only to receive dreadful news on their wedding day - he's already married, albeit to a madwoman who is completely beyond communication and has a habit of trying to kill him and anyone who goes near her.  
> *3: In The Scarlet Letter, Hester believed her husband dead, had an affair, and wound up pregnant but refused to name the father. As a result, she was ostracized from the rest of the town and forced to wear a cloth badge that represented her crime.  
> *4: In Flowers for Algernon, a mentally challenged man undergoes an experimental surgery - successfully tested on a lab mouse named Algernon - and his intelligence is drastically increased over a matter of months; he falls in love with Alice, the woman who was previously teaching him how to read, but their relationship is very rocky and interspersed with infidelity and drama.
> 
> Set 2's common theme is, quite simply, they all involve well-intentioned or seemingly inconsequential actions that result in absolute DISASTER, everything goes to Heck in a handbasket, and they all have sad or disturbing endings.
> 
> *1: The Scarlet Letter ends with two deaths - both the long-absent husband and the man Hester had her affair with. Hester returned to her reclusive lifestyle and eventually was buried next to her lover at a tombstone that forever reminds of their crime by description of the badge she'd worn in punishment.
> 
> *2: As Flowers for Algernon comes to a close Charlie begins rapidly regressing to his previous intelligence capacity - as Algernon did before dying - and though he was at one time more intelligent than the scientists who performed the surgery on him, Charlie ends up back where he started. He breaks off his love affair with Alice and leaves town, unwilling to see the pity in the eyes of those who knew him.  
> *3: Animal Farm is a wonderful tale of certain events in Russia's history portrayed by a farm of animals; it's short, easy, and I've actually worn out copies of it before. Though the animals wanted freedom from tyranny, slavery, and ill-treatment, they wind up right back where they started, all at the hands of one of their own.  
> *4: I'll readily confess that I've never read A Clockwork Orange but I have watched the film; I'm forever scarred by it - specifically by the excessive, glorified violence and overly graphic r*** scene. Alex - gang member, murderer, rapist, sociopath, and all around scumbag - is caught, imprisoned, and in return for a shorter sentence, agrees to undergo an experimental new form of aversion therapy. The procedure renders him incapable of violence and ill at the thought of any sexual activity, and unable to stomach listening to his favorite music which was used as the sound track. He is released but the aversion therapy was intended to cure Alex's sociopathy and lower the crime rate but instead only resulted in more crime and suffering from those Alex had wronged and him being unable to defend himself. Unable to handle it, he tries to kill himself, survives despite a blow to the head, and wakes up completely cured of the constrictions from the therapy, already considering his next crime.
> 
> As I said, good intentions and heck in a handbasket.


	4. Hiatus warning

**~ Just an author's note with update ~**

* * *

 

 **Soft hiatus beginning now for writing on account of IRL difficulties.** For the last couple months everything story-wise I've written has come out like "See Spot Barf" and it's taken a ridiculous amount of effort to even reach THAT level of mediocrity. I'm not gonna subject people to that, especially not you beautiful, wonderful readers who have stuck with me through the worst. (Slow updates, "just-fixed-a-typo" updates, Blocked, Kimber Bryant...you know, really awful stuff that makes readers want to choke writers.)

This is NOT the aforementioned Grief Hiatus. No one's dead (despite Granny Chance's best attempts to the latter) and the impending grief hiatus is still  _impending_  - I just need a friggin' break from pretending my arse isn't on fire from stress. IF, by some miracle, I can manage to transition the ideas in my heart and head into their intended fiction, I'll post them. In the meantime, I'm still apparently capable of flinging crappy sass-posts over on Tumblr, reading others' fiction, and leaving anonymous reviews when a story to touches my heart.

In the future, when this story gets going again, you can look forward to: Amber overreacting, Jasmine being a surprisingly cultured redneck, Hellboy completely missing the point, and Alesha having an aneurysm because she's surrounded by idiots. Eventually the romance will start...after everyone is through being stubborn idjits.

When this whole hiatus-causing business is over and I'm capable of writing on a regular basis again, I'll remove this note from my stories, but keep in mind that the hiatus will extend to "Full-Scale" if one of the two relatives dies before then. (again, uncle of cancer, Gran of age-deteriorated health) Meanwhile, be sure to support other writers on this site and please take time to enjoy life for a while.

 

Hope everyone has a great holiday season (or, if you don't celebrate, a lovely December) and with a little luck I'll be back to irritate y'all on a regular basis by January.


End file.
